::

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. -The Worthily Beloved William Shakespeare

Monday, April 5, 2010

High School Hearts

So contrite I am to have alleviated you,
so irritated now by your detractions.
To think from myself I deviated too
to plunge into your mendacious entrapments.

Yet how could I, merciless, vindictive, stand,
my resentful dismay upon you land;
I cannot provoke within you pain,
I could not bare to from you refrain.

No comments:

Post a Comment